


i gave you wonderful

by helenecixous



Category: Happy Valley (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Hurt/Comfort, I think that's it? - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Not Canon Compliant, i think i hate myself lmao, oh my god this is 11k words, okay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 15:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6381064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenecixous/pseuds/helenecixous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look,” Catherine says softly, looking down at the mug in her hands. “I’m sorry, about earlier. I was upset, and it wasn’t fair of me t’ just assume that… that that was what you wanted.”<br/>Kirsten smiles to herself and shakes her head. “I thought y’ used to be a detective,” she says. “What kind of a detective can’t tell when people want them to kiss them?”<br/>“They must’ve skipped that chapter durin’ trainin’,” Catherine mutters, but she raises her head to look at Kirsten seriously. “I don’t want you gettin’ yourself into somethin’ you’re gonna regret.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	i gave you wonderful

**Author's Note:**

> this has taken me 5724872 years to write

“Kirsten, find Sarg for me, will you? We need her to okay this evidence before it goes. I think she said somethin’ about trainin’.”

Kirsten nods, finishes her sandwich and stands up, looking over at Shafiq. “She ain’t gonna want t’ stop trainin’ for that,” she says. “So if anyone’s gonna get it for interrupting her, it ain’t gonna be me.”

Shafiq salutes her, and grins, and Kirsten heads out of the offices and down to the gym.

 

It’s a nice day, and Kirsten isn’t in any rush to interrupt Catherine while she’s training. They all know how she gets when she’s pulled from doing something. So Kirsten takes her time walking there, she lets herself enjoy the sun and allows her mind to wander, sees where it takes her. She thinks about Ollie, about how it’s been almost a year since he left, and she thinks about how they stay in touch, and how lucky she’s been to not have actually lost him. She thinks about how much she loves her job and the people she works with, and then her mind is back on Catherine, and she lets it linger there as she pulls the gym door open and slips in.

“Sarg? Catherine? Shafiq wants you back at the office- said somethin’ about needin’ you to check the evidence?” Kirsten says, the doors swinging shut behind her. Her eyes take a second to adjust from the brightness outside, and then whatever words are next die on her lips. Catherine’s in shorts and a white vest top, and the first thing that Kirsten notices is that the top isn’t doing a great deal. It’s practically transparent, damp with sweat and clinging to the sergeant’s form. She’s executing almost perfect chin ups, one after the other, and making it look effortless. The muscles in her arms and back are impossible to ignore, and she pulls herself up one more time before she lets go of the bar and drops to her feet.

“Shafiq what?” she pants, brushing her fringe from her forehead before she grabs her water and takes a long drink from it. “Can’t he just put it through- he knows what to look for.”

Kirsten’s mouth is dry, and she becomes suddenly and uncomfortably aware that she’s staring at the other woman. “You, uh, well, you know what Shaf’s like,” she mutters, focusing her gaze on a spot on the wall somewhere just above Catherine’s left shoulder.

“Yeah,” Catherine sighs, exhaling in frustration before gesturing for Kirsten to follow her. “Here - did you ever catch up with Mike about that rise you're due?” She opens the door to the changing rooms and holds it, so Kirsten has no choice but to duck through. “Only, I do keep mentionin’ it to ‘im, but it's always in one ear an’ out the other with our Mike. I think you need t’ keep on at him.”

Kirsten is so distracted she can only nod, trying (and failing) to not watch as Catherine pulls her t shirt over her head, bundles it up and throws it into her bag. She's always found the sergeant attractive - hell, every officer and their mum knows that Catherine is in good shape, but Kirsten can't say she's ever seen a woman in a bra and wanted to kiss her before now. She can't help but watch Catherine dry off and pull her shirt on, and she can't help the slight feeling of disappointment as the buttons are done up.

Catherine’s doing her belt up, and then she grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder, and she smirks, and that's Kirsten done for. She's totally, utterly fucked.

 

They walk back to the offices together, and Catherine complains the entire way. Kirsten knows she's only half teasing, but still, she doesn't fancy being Shafiq and to have to hand Catherine that small scrap of evidence and a pen to sign it off. She can't stop staring at the other woman, noticing things about her that she's never even noticed about herself. She's fixated on the way Catherine’s hair falls, the way in which she holds herself, stands assured and assertive. Kirsten’s half a step behind her and watches the way her hips move as she walks, the way she doesn't step so much as stride, and she's mortified when she meets Catherine’s eyes again and the sergeant is looking a little too amused, as though she can see right through the other woman. A faint blush spreads over Kirsten’s cheeks, and whatever mumbled excuse was formulating is obliterated when Catherine  _ winks  _ at her, and goes to find Shafiq. Kirsten stays behind, trying to make some sort of sense of the fact that she's fairly sure she wants to know how her boss kisses, she wants to know how Catherine would feel against her, she thinks she wants to see how Catherine would look flushed and breathless, her blue eyes dark. Kirsten exhales and leans heavily against the wall, and gives up. She'll just put it out of her mind. It'll be gone in a week or so, she's sure.

 

It's been two weeks since the Incident. Kirsten likes to think of it as an incident with a capital I. It's been two weeks and so far she's been besotted by Catherine drinking coffee, she's paid close attention to the way the older woman holds the mug with both hands, the way her lips rest on the rim as she watches whoever is talking to her. Two weeks and Kirsten is half sure that this isn't something she's going to be able to “put out of her mind”, not unless she moves to Scotland or somewhere equally ridiculous. And even then she knows there's no way she won't be thinking about Catherine panting after working out. It's enough to drive anybody mad. She can’t watch Catherine do  _ anything,  _ and she definitely can’t be alone with her for more than five minutes, and she can’t stop noticing stupid little things that make her a little bit uncomfortable. She isn’t gay, she can’t be gay, she’s never been interested in women,  _ ever,  _ and yet here she is, thinking thoughts she probably shouldn’t about her boss, of all people.

 

“Joyce?” Kirsten asks, glancing around the mostly empty office. Her palms are sweaty, she feels like a kid. “Can I ask y’ somethin’?”

Joyce looks up, one eyebrow raised. “Course, chick. What’s up?”

“Now I don’t- don’t go lookin’ too far into this, or assumin’ that it’s somethin’ it i’n’t, alright?”

Joyce nods, intrigued. “Hit me with it.”

“Has- has Sarg ever, only I’m askin’ you because you two are close, and I figured if anyone was gonna know it’d be you. Has Sarg ever been- you know, with, or, or interested in… a woman?” She’s posed the question and she reckons she instantly regrets it. She looks away, her cheeks burning. Joyce is grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“Yeah, she has,” she answers, and fuck that isn’t the right answer. Kirsten had been hoping for a no, so she could write it off as a mistake, a one sided mistake. But now… Now? She’s screwed. She’s up shit creek without a paddle, she’s in too deep, she should definitely move. Get a job somewhere else. Work in the Spar or something. This is terrible.

Kirsten nods, hoping that her face isn’t as illustrative as it feels right now. “Alright. Thanks.”

Joyce has leant forward over her desk, amusement written across her face. “You’re gonna have to get in line,” she says. “Everybody gets a crush on her eventually.”

“No- no, I’m not- I’m not-” Kirsten splutters, wishing for all the world that the ground would open and swallow her up. She’d say hello to Satan himself and she’s sure it’d be better than this. “I’m not- I was just curious.”

“You and me both, sweetpea,” Joyce says, and she looks like she’s enjoying herself far too much. “Yeah, she’s been with some ladies in her time. I don’t think she cares much for labels.”

Jesus Christ.

“Okay, well, um, thanks,” Kirsten mumbles, turns to go and then turns back around, looking hassled. “If this could just- stay between us. That’d be really, really good.”

Joyce nods, and winks. “Not a problem,” she says, and turns back to her computer, as though her coworkers come to her about their crushes on the sergeant more times than she can count. Kirsten runs a hand through her hair as she leaves, and she thinks that they probably do.

 

Catherine’s a lot of things, but she’s never been silly. She’s never been unobservant. If she was, then she’d be in the wrong job entirely. She’d also be lying if she tried to claim that she hasn’t noticed the way Kirsten’s been looking at her, or that she’s not been playing to that just slightly. She’s noticed the officer, of course, she noticed her months and months ago, when Kirsten first joined. But she’s also aware of the fact that she’s almost old enough to be her mother,  _ and  _ she’s her boss. Office romances are always messy at best, and Catherine doesn’t fancy letting Kirsten put herself in a position where bitter scrotes could accuse her of sleeping her way up. So she’s stuck. She’s stuck but she’s flirty by nature, and for better or for worse she’s curious to see where this could be going.

 

“Kirsten’s a bit keen on you, i’n’t she?” Joyce asks, grinning. She and Catherine are huddled in the corner of a pub, both of them three or four pints into the night.

Catherine groans and stretches, shaking her head. “Oh come off it,” she mutters. “I’m about three hundred years older than she is. I could be her mother.”

“Only you’re not her mother,” Joyce points out. “I think you’ve started something here.”

“I ‘aven’t done anything!” Catherine protests, draining what was left of her drink. “And who says she’s even into women? She’s only just come out of her relationship with that spineless prick Ollie.”

“Catherine, they finished a year ago, more or less. You can’t ‘ave  _ not  _ noticed the way she stares at you all the bleedin’ time.”

“Course I’ve noticed! But could you imagine the Christmas dinners?” she put on a higher voice and made air quotes with her fingers. “‘Mum, Dad, this is Catherine, my girlfriend. You went to school w’ her, d’you remember?’ Come off it!”

“But you’re interested in her, right?”

“I’m forty seven!  _ Forty seven!” _

“Yeah but you’re interested in her?”

“What is this? The Spanish bloody Inquisition?”

“Well I can start shinin’ a torch in your face if you really want.” Joyce gestures for another two pints and then leans over the table so that she’s closer to her friend. 

“Joyce, it doesn’  _ matter  _ whether I’m interested or not, I’m her boss, it’d be-”

“Don’t you dare say unethical. She’s young, but she ain’t a kid, Catherine. Sounds to me like you’re just after excuses now.”

“She isn’t ever gonna be interested in me anyway,” Catherine tries, and it sounds halfhearted even to her.

That’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back, and Joyce sighs, rolling her eyes. “You shut your face,” she says. “You  _ know  _ you’re hot shit.”

“Who do you take me for?!” Catherine protests, but she’s laughing. “None of this would be a problem if she ‘adn’t come in when I was trainin’. Honestly, you should’ve been there. She looked like the bottom had dropped out of her world.”

Joyce shakes her head, joining in on the laughter. “Well, we’ve all been there,” she says. “God, remember your first crush on a woman?”

They both pause to think, and Catherine smiles to herself. “I reckon it was Kim. Kim Jones, her name was. We went to school together. I mean, there were probably small ones here and there before her, ones that don’t stick in t’ mind, you know? But she was me first big deal.”

Joyce nods, looking down at her glass with a fond smile on her face. “I reckon she’d be a little bit besotted even if she  _ ‘adn’t  _ been at t’ gym. I really do. The way you two just click. She’s been the last one to catch on to her feelin’s, if y’ask me.”

Catherine just rolls her eyes and pats Joyce’s arm. “Give it a few weeks and you’ll ‘ave let it go. A few more weeks an’ she’ll ‘ave, ‘n’ all.”

“Y’know she came in t’ office t’ ask me if you swing that way?” Joyce asks. “I wasn’t gonna say anythin’ t’ you, I told her I wouldn’t. Only it’s bloody annoyin’ listenin’ to you harpin’ on and on and on about how she ain’t gonna be interested in you.”

“Are you ‘avin me on?” Catherine asks, leaning forward and pushing the sleeves of her shirt up and past her elbows.

“No word of a lie,” Joyce insists. “I swear, she comes in an’ she asks whether you’ve ever been with a woman before. Says she’s just curious an’ I know I ‘aven’t been out in field for a long time but I ‘aven’t lost  _ all  _ powers of observation just yet. She was blushin’ and splutterin’ all over the place - nearly fallin’ over herself to try to explain that it wasn’t what I was thinkin’.”

“Seriously, Joyce, does she know how old I am?”

“I don’t think that half matters to ‘er.”

Catherine leans back in her chair and crosses her arms, inhaling slowly. She’s too drunk to properly process what’s just been said, but she isn’t nearly drunk enough to blame the sudden and nervous fluttering in her stomach on the alcohol. “This is a really bloody stupid idea,” she mutters, and Joyce throws her head back and laughs, reaching out to swat Catherine’s arm.

“And exactly when has that ever stopped you?”

 

Now that Catherine’s looking for it, she notices the way Kirsten’s gaze lingers on her, she notices the small blushes and coy smiles, the self conscious smoothing out of the clothes, or the constant faffing with the hair. Kirsten, to her credit, isn’t as obvious as she could be, and Catherine has no choice but to admire the way the young officer doesn’t let it get in the way when they’re out on the job together.

She finds herself increasingly aware of the way she conducts herself, the way she walks and talks and stands and smiles, and she’s always careful now not to look too stern or pissed off when Kirsten’s around. That takes less effort than she’d like to admit. And frankly, it’s embarrassing that Joyce knows. It’s like a secret shared between the three of them that none of them (except Joyce) are willing to face. As far as anyone else is concerned, there is absolutely nothing going on between the officer and the sergeant, but Joyce is a different matter. She’s got a constant grin on her face that would put the Cheshire Cat to shame, and Catherine’s lost count of winks she’s been given. Ridiculous. Catherine also almost half resents the way she’s going home at nights feeling kind of disappointed and kind of excited for the next day and kind of - she can’t really describe the feeling. Light? Whatever it is, she’s sure it’s a little bit stupid. Unnecessary. She isn’t a teenager with her first crush.

 

Kirsten’s noticed a small change in the sergeant, although she can’t put her finger on what exactly it is. All she knows is that there’s more smirking, more accidental touches, she’s noticed how Catherine stands closer to her, how personal space suddenly isn’t a thing when Catherine’s around. She reckons Joyce has probably said something, but now she isn’t sure what to make of the shift in Catherine’s behaviour. She’s definitely flirting, Kirsten thinks, but she’s seen Catherine flirt with anyone who will stand still for long enough. Somehow, though, something about this feels a little bit different. Catherine’s not as cocky, not as self assured, and Kirsten grins to herself at the thought - is she making Catherine Cawood  _ nervous? _

 

They’re both in Catherine’s office, drinking coffee and suffering through small talk when Mike comes in, and fuck he looks panicked. “Catherine.” He’s looking a bit desperate, and he’s out of breath. “Oh fuck, Catherine, listen - the lads are out, they need backup and there’s no one else here.”

Catherine’s already standing up and grabbing her vest. “It’s my shift, why am I not out there already?” she asks, zipping it up.

“It’s - I didn’t think-” Mike’s floundering. He knows he has to tell her, and he’d rather do literally anything else. “Kirsten, can you- can you go with her?” His eyes are pleading with the younger woman, who nods and stands up too.

“What’s goin’ on, Mike?” Catherine asks. She’s on edge now, looking between Mike and Kirsten. “Look, if they need backup, I need to be there.”

Mike glances at Kirsten, who shakes her head in exasperation, as if to tell him that she doesn’t know, so she can’t tell Catherine for him. Not that she thinks she would, even if she could.

“We had a call from a woman who- who found her daughter dead a few hours since.”

Catherine freezes, and Mike’s heart aches for her.

“Her daughter, she- she, well- she hanged herself, an’ the mum reckons she did because she was raped, and the- the rap-  _ alleged  _ rapist is- well, he’s tryin’ to get into the house. Heard from a neighbour that the girl was dead, and he says he wants to see her. He got shirty and violent with Twiggy, and they say they need as many hands as we have.”

Kirsten watches as Catherine ducks her head and inhales deeply, and she thinks Catherine’s eyes are shining with tears. It lasts for less than a second, though, and by the time Kirsten’s taken one step forward Catherine has already cleared her throat, nodded, grabbed her radio and brushed past Mike and is headed to the cars.

“You best go with her,” Mike says, looking at Kirsten. “Make sure she’s alright for me, will you?”

Kirsten nods and hurries after the sergeant.

 

The car ride is quiet save for the sirens, and it’s tense. To anyone who didn’t really know her, Catherine would appear to be fine - calm, collected. But Kirsten notices the way Catherine’s gripping the steering wheel a little too tightly, how her eyes are guarded, and she can see how tense the sergeant is. She doesn’t try to make conversation, doesn’t ask what’s going on or question whether this is a good idea - she knows that if Catherine wants her to know, she’ll tell her. And it doesn’t seem like the right kind of time for a heart to heart, anyway.

Catherine parks up and takes a minute to check she has everything she thinks she’ll need, and Kirsten looks at her. “You alright?” she asks quietly.

“What?” Catherine asks, turning to her. “Oh- yeah. Yeah.” To avoid any further questions, she gets out of the car, and trusting that Kirsten won’t be too far behind, strides up to the front of the house and walks in. She figures the sooner she starts, the sooner it’ll be over, and as she starts up the stairs to the rest of her team, she tries to wonder what she’s going to have for tea.

 

“Shaf?” Kirsten asks quietly. Catherine’s gone into the bedroom where they found the corpse, and Shafiq walks over to her.

“What’s Sarg doin’ ‘ere?” he whispers. “Why her? Of all people, damnit?”

“There’s no one else back at t’ nick,” Kirsten explains, keeping her eyes on the doorway to the bedroom. “What’s goin’ on did you get the twat?”

Shafiq nods, looking as uncomfortable and as on edge as Kirsten feels. “Twiggy got ‘im. He’s in the car, we didn’t know how many others were involved.” He glances around and lowers his voice even more. “The mother reckons there’s bound to be two or three more, and that they might be armed. We don’t know how… stable she is. I mean - fuck, you’re not really gonna be on top of your game when your daughter’s swingin’ from your ceilin’, are you?”

Kirsten grimaces, straightening up when Catherine emerges from the bedroom, pulling the blue latex gloves off as she approaches them.

“Everythin’ alright, boss?” Shafiq asks.

Catherine nods. “You need to get her down,” she says. “They’ve got what they need, let’s get her out of here. Where’s the mother?”

“John had her downstairs in t’ kitchen,” Shafiq says.

“Has anyone talked her through the procedure?” Catherine asks. “Explained what she needs to do in terms of the death certificate and what we’re going to be doing?”

Shafiq shrugs. “I wish I could tell you. As far as I know it’s only John down there w’ her.”

Nodding, Catherine squeezes past them both on the hall and pauses at the top of the stairs, her hand on the banister. The muscles in her jaw are working furiously as she looks back at her friends. “Go on then, get her down. Kirsten, with me, please.”

Both officers nod and do as she’s instructed, and Kirsten walks down the stairs just behind Catherine. “Are you okay?” she murmurs, and Catherine turns to face her.

“I’m  _ fine,”  _ she says, reaching out to rub Kirsten’s shoulder. “Let’s focus on the job in hand, hm?” She can see that Kirsten’s not convinced, but there’s not a lot she can do about that right now. So she lets go of the officer and turns to head into the kitchen, to attempt to give the mother the support and advice she needed when she lost her daughter.

 

The whole team is subdued, and they all traipse out of the house quietly. Since the arrival of Catherine, everything has gone smoothly, but they all know the kind of toll this could take on their sergeant. None of them seem particularly keen to get too near to Catherine, and they’re not speaking to each other or to her. Kirsten’s sticking close, but Catherine looks for all the world like she’s absolutely fine, completely unfazed, like she doesn’t need anything more than a cup of tea and a sandwich.

 

It isn’t until they get back to the nick that the sergeant’s mood shifts. Someone brings her tea, she’s not paying attention to who it is. She’s sitting at her desk and she nods distractedly, mumbling a thank you to her computer monitor, holding herself rigid until she hears the door click shut behind them. It’s only then that she deflates, her shoulders slumping, and she rubs her forehead tiredly. She wants to go home, to get to bed, to get away from their pity and their hushed tones and furtive glances thrown towards her.

“Sarg?”

She looks up and offers Kirsten a small smile. “Alright? Did you get some food?”

Kirsten nods. “We’re all goin’ out tonight,” she says. “I wondered whether you’d like to come with? Just for a few drinks?”

Catherine stands up, and she isn’t sure why. “I’ll pass,” she says. “Rather just get to bed after a Chinese, I think… Thank you, though. I’m sure you’ll all have a lovely time.”

Kirsten tries not to look too disappointed. “I get it,” she says, gesturing back at the now closed door. “Mike told me to tell you you can go home, if you like.”

“Go home and do what? Sit and stew? Might as well wait until five to do that.”

“That’s what I told ‘im you’d say,” Kirsten smiles, and her gaze softens. “Are you alright, Catherine? Really?”

Catherine smiles thinly, looks away and shakes her head just barely. Before she has the chance to justify herself, to brush her own feelings off and pretend that she’s fine, Kirsten has pulled her into her arms and they’re holding each other. Catherine tries not to but she practically melts into the other woman, clutching her arms and breathing steadily.

“Y’know I’m no counsellor,” Kirsten murmurs, her lips pressed to Catherine’s temple. “But it’s alright to be bothered by things. Nobody thinks any less of you for it.”

“No, I know, I know,” Catherine says, nodding and squeezing Kirsten before she lets go and takes half a step back. “I’m okay. I’ll be okay.”

“I know you will,” Kirsten says, and Catherine watches her closely. She notices the concern deep in Kirsten’s eyes, and she’s struck by how pretty the officer really is. She seems too young, too kind to be in a job like this, and Catherine just wants to wrap her up in her arms and make sure that she’s never subjected to anything horrific or upsetting. She suddenly wants to kiss her, to reassure them both that they’re okay, she wants to hold Kirsten to her and feel the comfort of the contact.

It’s as though Kirsten can see Catherine’s thoughts, because she reaches out and she takes one of Catherine’s hands in her own, and smiles, and that’s all that needs to be said and done. The sergeant closes the space between them again and pulls Kirsten against her. Kirsten’s arms wrap around her and their lips meet, and for a minute they’re both still, their lips warm and barely brushing, and then it’s like a switch has been flicked. Kirsten’s hands move to run through Catherine’s hair, and Catherine’s arms tighten around Kirsten’s waist, pulling her closer, closer, closer still. Her eyes are closed and she’s feeling everything - every part of them that’s touching, every time Kirsten’s fingers move or tighten, every time she tenses. Everything. And it’s really good to focus on that instead of the way her mind had been heading back to where it hadn’t been in months.

They break apart and grin at each other, and Catherine brushes some of Kirsten’s hair behind her ear gently, her lips parted as she started to speak. Something catches her eye and she glances over Kirsten’s shoulder, and there’s Becky, hanging in the corner of her office.

Catherine cries out and pulls back, away from Kirsten. She knocks the bin by her desk over, her head in her hands, and she’s trying, she’s desperately trying to regulate her breathing, to tell herself that it isn’t real, it isn’t, that Becky’s gone and she was never here, and she backs up until she can’t anymore.

Kirsten knows what’s happening. She holds Catherine’s forearm, her thumb grazing over her sleeve as she speaks slowly, but Catherine isn’t sure what she’s saying. She slides down the wall until she’s sitting on the floor, and her cheeks are wet with the kind of tears that tend to come from nowhere. She risks a glance to the corner of the room again, and she sees that there’s nothing there, and Kirsten crouches next to her and wraps her arms around Catherine’s shoulders. Catherine leans into her and then clutches her, sobbing openly into her shoulder and hating herself for it more and more every second.

Kirsten just holds Catherine, resting her cheek on the other woman's head. She doesn’t bother telling her that it’s okay, that she’s safe and that Becky’s not here; she knows she knows, and Kirsten isn’t about to insult her intelligence and patronise her, or make her feel any worse than she does already. Instead, she waits until Catherine’s sobs have quietened to small whimpers and hiccups, and she presses her lips to the sergeant’s temple.

“Let’s get you home,” she murmurs, and Catherine’s too tired, too drained to argue. She nods, and Kirsten helps her to her feet.

“I’m sorry,” Catherine says thickly, wiping her eyes and shaking her head. “God, look at me, I’m sorry.”

Kirsten ignores her, looking around the desk for Catherine’s car keys. “I don’t think it’s a very smart idea for you to be driving home,” she says. “Where are your keys?”

Catherine shakes her head again and swallows, tilting her head back and blinking rapidly. “No- no it’s okay, I’m alright. I’m fine. I can drive.”

“Catherine,” Kirsten says firmly. “I’m sorry, but this isn’t up for debate.” She looks pointedly down at the sergeant’s hands, which are trembling noticeably. “Keys?”

Catherine sighs, and tries to be frustrated and assertive. She fails. “In the drawer,” she mutters, grabbing her jacket and pulling it on.

Kirsten picks the keys up and turns back around. “Oh Catherine,” she says gently. Catherine’s still standing in the middle of the room, her face covered by her hands, and she’s crying again, the sounds only slightly muffled by her sleeves. Her shoulders are shaking, and she only gets more upset when Kirsten moves and rubs her back slowly.

“Come on…” Kirsten says, glancing around the office to make sure that Catherine has everything she’ll need - phone, wallet, house keys - before she brushes the blonde hair away from the sergeant’s face. “Home, an’ then you can have a good cuppa and get into bed, hm?”

She somehow manages to guide Catherine from the offices and to the car park, silently reassuring the other officers with a smile as they passed, and by the time they’re in Catherine’s car, Catherine is calm enough to be able to effectively give Kirsten directions. By the time they’re parked outside, Catherine’s sure she’s never felt so drained in her life.

“How are you going to get back to the nick?” she asks, turning to look at Kirsten with eyes that are burning.

“I was just gonna get a taxi, or catch bus or somethin’,” Kirsten says, smiling and taking the seat belt off. “Don’t you get worryin’ about me, Sarg. I’m a big girl, I can make my way back.”

Catherine sighs and shakes her head. “No- no. Come in for a cup of tea or somethin’ first. Please.”

“You should really rest,” Kirsten tries to argue, handing Catherine the keys. “You’ve ‘ad a long day.” She glances at the house, and then back at Catherine. “Is your sister in?”

Catherine shakes her head.

“Are you goin’ t’ be okay on your own? Honestly?”

Catherine pauses. She wants to say yes, but she knows that as soon as that front door closes between them, she’s going to be worse off than she’s been in quite a long time. “I don’t know,” she finally admits, choosing to stare out of the window instead of meeting Kirsten’s eyes.

“Do you want me to stay with you until someone gets here? Your sister, or- son? I don’t mind, really. It’s this or the pub with the others, and I don’t think I fancy watchin’ them get slaughtered.”

Catherine stays silent. The last person she’s been interested in - properly interested in - is Richard. He’s never been the most sympathetic or compassionate sort, had been quick to run when Becky died. She’s never had somebody care so openly about her. Of course there’s Clare, but Clare’s family, so she kind of doesn’t count. Catherine’s vision blurs again and she looks down at her knees, and Kirsten nods to herself. “Alright. Alright, I’ll come in for a cuppa, okay? I’ll stay here, Catherine, for as long as you want me to.”

She gets out of the car, and so does Catherine, and they both walk up to the front door together. They’re both thinking about what Kirsten has just said, and they both know somewhere deep down that ‘here’ doesn’t just mean the house. They both know that for better or for worse, they’re stuck with each other, and that if they care for and attend to it properly, something might just come of it.

 

Catherine puts the kettle on and they move to curl up on the sofa, both of them cradling their mugs and looking anywhere but at each other.

“Who’s that?” Kirsten eventually asks, nodding to the photo of Ryan that’s above the mantlepiece.

“That’s our Ryan,” Catherine says. “And that’s Becky, to the left.”

Kirsten nods thoughtfully, and silence falls again.

“Look,” Catherine says softly, looking down at the mug in her hands. “I’m sorry, about earlier. I was upset, and it wasn’t fair of me t’ just assume that… that that was what you wanted.”

Kirsten smiles to herself and shakes her head. “I thought y’ used to be a detective,” she says. “What kind of a detective can’t tell when people want them to kiss them?”

“They must’ve skipped that chapter durin’ trainin’,” Catherine mutters, but she raises her head to look at Kirsten seriously. “I don’t want you gettin’ yourself into somethin’ you’re gonna regret.”

“Why would I regret it?”

Catherine snorts. “C’mon, Kirsten,” she says softly. “Even if this-” she gestures to herself, “wasn’t like it is, I’m still your boss, and there are… complications, just with that.”

“What if I want it?” Kirsten asks, and she isn’t really sure why she does. All she knows is that there’s something about Catherine that entrances her, even when the older woman is crying or furious or tired, and she keeps thinking about that kiss - that kiss that felt a million worlds away from every kiss she’d shared with Ollie and every other bloke she’s been with. And now she feels this urge to look after the other woman, which is ridiculous, really, because Catherine’s more than capable of looking after herself. But she wants to be there. “Because I do. I want it.”

Catherine can’t say she’s surprised. She can’t say she’s disappointed either. She just inhales deeply through her nose and knows that there’s nothing she can say that’s going to sway the younger woman. She knows that once Kirsten sets out to do something, she doesn’t stop until it’s done. “Well I think that’s- well. That’s two of us, then,” she says, tentatively, as though if she speaks too loudly or moves too fast the words might fall from her lips and shatter and break this fragile thing that’s happening between them.

“Yeah?” Kirsten asks, and her voice is soft too. “Are you alright?”

Catherine nods, exhales, and smiles. “Tired now,” she admits. “But don’t you get goin’ anywhere. I’m not pushin’ you out.” She reaches over and takes Kirsten’s hand, and Kirsten puts her tea down and moves closer, shifting over so that she can wrap her arms around Catherine’s waist and rest her head on her shoulder. They settle, give themselves time to adjust, get comfortable, get used to it, and then it falls into place and they look for all the world like they’ve been doing it for years.

 

When Catherine wakes up, it’s dark. The room has been basked in the orange glow from the streetlights outside, her neck hurts, and Kirsten’s still next to her. She looks down at the officer and allows herself to smile and gently brush stray strands of hair away from Kirsten’s face. She grimaces and tries to move, to stretch out, and the movement causes Kirsten to stir.

“Catherine?” she mumbles, opening her eyes and craning her neck to look at the other woman. “You alrigh’?”

Catherine nods. “Gettin’ too old to start sleepin’ on sofas like this,” she says, her voice quiet and still rough with sleep. She rubs her neck, and Kirsten sits up, looking around the darkened room.

“I should get goin’,” Kirsten says, stretching and getting to her feet. Catherine gets up too, and for a minute they just look at each other. “Are you gonna be okay?” Kirsten asks, searching Catherine’s face for a hint of truth. 

“A good bath and I’ll be like new, I’m sure,” Catherine says, stepping closer to Kirsten and looking down at her. “Stop worrying.”

Kirsten’s tilted her head up and she can feel Catherine’s breath ghosting over her lips. She suppresses a shiver. “Will you… Will you ring me if you need me?” she whispers.

Catherine hums and nods, both of her hands finding Kirsten’s hips and resting there gently. Kirsten inches forward, and almost gasps when she feels Catherine’s thumbs find their way under her shirt and graze over her hips slowly.

“Can I stay?” Kirsten whispers, watching Catherine’s lips intently. The words have tumbled from her lips and she can’t take them back, and for a second she’s worried she’s overstepped the mark, but Catherine smirks and Kirsten relaxes.

“Need you ask?” Catherine murmurs, tugging Kirsten’s hips forward so that the smaller woman practically falls into her. She leans forward and she presses her lips to Kirsten’s, and Kirsten’s hands find their way to the back of Catherine’s neck, and work on loosening her hair. She lets it down and immediately runs her hands through it, and Catherine sighs, drawing the officer closer and walking her backwards so that Kirsten’s back is against the wall.

“Okay?” Catherine whispers, separating from her by mere millimetres.

Kirsten nods, slightly breathless. “More than,” she breathes, tipping her head back and closing her eyes as Catherine starts leaving small open mouthed kisses along her jawline and throat.

Kirsten’s fingers tighten in Catherine’s hair and she presses herself forward, only to be pushed back against the wall again. She looks at Catherine’s face, still in the half darkness, and she can’t really bring herself to be ashamed of the fact that she whimpers as Catherine kisses her lips again, one hand trailing under her uniform and up to cup her bra gently.

“Upstairs?” Catherine mutters, cupping Kirsten’s face and deepening their kiss despite her question.

Kirsten’s flushed, giving back as much as she can, but Catherine’s overwhelming and it’s going to be too easy for Kirsten to just take whatever the other woman gives. She nods, and neither of them make any attempt to move until they’re both out of breath and tugging at their uniforms.

Catherine takes Kirsten’s hands and Kirsten looks at her closely. Catherine’s hair is all over the place and her lips are red, and they’re quirked into a satisfied, self assured smirk. She pulls Kirsten away from the wall and leads her up the stairs and to her bedroom, and in what feels like seconds the door’s closed and the lamp’s on and they’re both in too many layers. They both shrug off their own jackets and vests - there’s no point in being impractical and trying to fumble with each other’s zips and equipment - and Kirsten comes to a complete standstill when she looks over and Catherine’s unbuttoning her shirt. Catherine looks up and grins, leaving it half undone and moving over to take Kirsten into her arms and kiss her again, her fingers working on the other woman’s shirt quickly.

“Alright?” she asks, again, and Kirsten nods, pulling away only so they can both let their shirts fall from their shoulders before they’re back together and Catherine’s pushing Kirsten over to the bed, breathing hard. Kirsten can’t stop staring at Catherine, can’t stop looking at the curve of her neck, the freckles that litter her skin, can’t stop looking at the swell of her breasts and the way the curves of her waist and hips are perfect. She climbs onto the bed and she’s moving her hair out of her face and then she straddles Kirsten’s thighs, lowering herself to make a mark over the younger woman’s breast.

Kirsten can’t quite believe that she’s here, in Catherine Cawood’s bed, and she’s tugging and twisting the sheets, panting and whimpering softly as Catherine finds the places that make her forget her own name, and she’s struck by how Catherine can play her like a musical instrument, like she’s done this a thousand times before. She’s running her hands over Catherine’s back and kissing and biting her shoulder as Catherine’s hands are everywhere and they’re both breathless and moaning softly.

It doesn’t take them long before they’re entwined, gasping, clutching, clawing at each other, hearts racing as they climb and climb, and yet they’re both too stubborn and too involved to let go just yet. Kirsten doesn’t remember when they moved, but Catherine’s mouth has been everywhere on her, and she’s fairly sure that she’s never going to forget the sight of her sergeant between her thighs.

She’s about to come and then suddenly there’s nothing, and Catherine’s grinning, holding herself above Kirsten - making sure they’re not touching at all. Kirsten’s breathless and sweaty and she can’t believe that Catherine’s just done that. And then Catherine takes Kirsten’s hands and holds them to the pillows above her head, and with her other hand she scratches along Kirsten’s inner thighs and she’s making dark bruises over her collarbones and breasts as she finishes her off with her fingers and then Kirsten isn’t sure where her body ends and Catherine’s begins.

Kirsten sags into the mattress, and then she’s up and pushing Catherine down, and she makes sure to touch every part of the sergeant, to commit every single dip and line and curve and freckle and scar to memory. She wants to see what Catherine looks like when she lets go, and the way her toes curl and she gasps and whimpers and swears and clutches Kirsten’s shoulders is enough to let Kirsten know that there’s no way she’s going back now.

 

If anybody on the team has noticed, nobody says anything. Catherine reckons Joyce seems a little more smug than usual, but Kirsten assures her that that’s just her imagination. They try to keep it professional, little more than brief touches here and there, or stolen kisses in empty offices. Catherine’s still worried that people are going to assume that Kirsten’s in the relationship to further her own career, but she trusts that her team know them both better than to assume that; they both do. Their evenings are spent together, mostly back at Catherine’s house. Kirsten meets Clare and they both decide they like each other, and Ryan is taken from the minute Kirsten demonstrates knowledge of football and a willingness to discuss the ‘gross’ parts of finding dead bodies.

Catherine knows better than to allow herself to get too hopeful - she supposes one dead child, one estranged child, and a divorce will do that to a person’s optimism - but she finds herself enjoying Kirsten’s company more than she ever expected to. She finds herself on the phone to her whenever one of them is out on the job, missing her when she isn’t around, and feeling things she thought you only feel when you’re seventeen and in your first Serious Relationship.

 

“So he’s got his grubby little hand ‘round me throat, right? But he doesn’t realise that Twiggy’s right be’ind him.” Catherine’s leaning against the counter, stirring the bolognese for the lasagne she’s making. “So then Twiggy twats him ‘round the head and he lets go of me and then tries to start on the two of us, only he’s off his head on skunk and Christ knows what else, an’ he starts takin’ swings at thin air, callin’ us all sorts - you know the usual rubbish. An’ so then all we ‘ave to do is grab him an’ tell him he’s bein’ arrested for possession and probably ABH an’ GBH an’ whatever else he did to his girlfriend, an’ he just sits down. He just. Sits! Down on floor! An’ he tells us he ain’t goin’ anywhere, only by now I’m pissed off an’ bored an’ Twiggy’s pissin’ himself laughin’, so I just grab him and get him to his feet and practically carry him to car.”

Kirsten’s laughing, sitting at the table with Catherine’s red jumper on. They’re listening to The Smiths and she’s nursing a glass of wine and listening to the story, but she’s paying more attention to the way Catherine’s speaking than the words she’s actually saying. She’s being as animated as you can when you’re stirring sauce for lasagne, her hair’s tied up messily and she’s missed bits at the back. There’s a shadow of a forming bruise on her neck where the prick had grabbed her, but Kirsten tries not to think too long about that. She’s wearing a shirt that’s only buttoned up half way, and Kirsten doesn’t think she’s ever seen anything as beautiful.

“An’ he’s  _ still  _ tryin’ t’ get in a few punches,” Catherine’s saying, shaking her head to herself as she picks up her glass and takes a sip of wine, looking pensive. “But by this point I don’t think he knows his own name or where he is, let alone where I am, so he ain’t ‘avin’ much luck.” She turns the gas down so that the sauce can simmer, and turns to look at Kirsten. “So anyway, we get him to the nick - an’ this is the best bit - he tries to say that I should lose me job for abuse of power! I’ve no idea how he had enough brain cells to string together nine words that were vaguely coherent, but Jesus. As if he ‘adn’t just spent the last god knows how long- why are you lookin’ at me like that?”

Kirsten just grins and shakes her head, standing up and moving over to Catherine so she could wrap her arms around her shoulders and press a kiss on her cheek. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she says. “And this food smells amazin’.”

“I’m always alright, me,” Catherine says, but she puts her wine down and holds Kirsten’s waist, smiling.

“I can’t believe you unironically enjoy The Smiths,” Kirsten murmurs, laughing and kissing Catherine’s lips gently. She tastes of wine and mint and herself, and she’s huffing indignantly.

“Oh give over,” she says, reaching behind Kirsten to turn the speakers up a little. She arches an eyebrow and offers Kirsten her hand, and Kirsten laughs, taking it.

They dance, both of them a little tipsy and neither can remember the last time they’d felt so comfortable. The sun’s setting and the kitchen’s warm and smells like cooking, and everything smells like Catherine’s perfume and Kirsten thought this kind of thing only happens in films.

Catherine draws Kirsten closer and they bump into the table and laugh, dancing together in a ridiculously small space; a space that was definitely not designed for dancing. Kirsten rests her head on Catherine’s shoulder and Catherine runs her fingers through her hair slowly. They come to a standstill and Catherine rubs Kirsten’s back before she steps back to carry on with the food. “That jumper looks good on you,” she remarks, and Kirsten grins, moving to sit on the counter next to where Catherine’s working.

She plucks the sleeve and shrugs. “Well you would say that, wouldn’t you? You kind of ‘ave to be nice to me, it’s in your job description.”

“Is it?” Catherine asks, feigning surprise. “Well shit. I don’t think I read the smallprint. Can I take you back? Exchange you for a newer, better model?”

Kirsten snorts and rolls her eyes. “A better model?” she asks, looking shocked. “Better? How are you hopin’ to achieve that?” She reaches over and dips her finger in the sauce, and tastes it with a smile.

Catherine laughs and quickly kisses Kirsten. “You make a good point,” she says, taking a second to cup Kirsten’s chin and kiss her again. “How’d I go and get so lucky, hm?” she murmurs, and then pulls away to finish her glass and pour another.

Kirsten smiles and says nothing, but she knows that if either of them are lucky, it isn’t Catherine.

 

“I can’t believe we’ve been together for this long and you’ve waited until now to show me that you can really, really cook,” Kirsten mumbles. They’re both on the sofa, nursing food babies and more wine.

“I’m full of surprises, me,” Catherine says softly, grinning. She’s lying across the length of the sofa and Kirsten’s between her legs, her head resting above Catherine’s heart, and she’s tracing patterns slowly over the sergeant’s collarbones as Catherine’s fingers move gently through her hair.

Catherine’s almost asleep when Kirsten speaks again. “Ollie texted me today,” she whispers.

“Oh yeah?” Catherine mumbles, moving her head just slightly and opening her eyes to look at Kirsten. “Everythin’ okay?”

“He asked if we could go out for some dinner. I told him I’m with someone else.”

Catherine smiles and closes her eyes again. “Did you?”

Kirsten nods, her fingers moving in slow circles over Catherine’s skin. “I told ‘im that I’m in it for the long run, an’ that I’ve never been ‘appier.”

“That so?”

“Mmhmm.” Kirsten looks up and kisses Catherine’s jawline. “He said he was happy for me. He ain’t as happy as I am, though.”

“Soppy bastard,” Catherine teases, and she opens her eyes again. “I’m glad he took it well.”

“It’s all your fault,” Kirsten murmurs, resting her head back above Catherine’s heart and tapping her fingers in time with the steady beat. “You’ve gone and made me all mushy.”

“Didn’t really take much doin’, now did it?” Catherine whispers, taking Kirsten’s hand and kissing her fingertips, and Kirsten smiles to herself.

“Guess not, no. And I couldn’t possibly go back to him, now I know you cook lasagne that well.”

“Oh, is that all it took?” Catherine asks, grinning up at the ceiling.

“He can’t even use kettle properly.”

They both start laughing and Catherine wraps her arms tightly around Kirsten. “Can’t ‘ave you goin’ back to someone who can’t use a kettle,” she says. “That wouldn’t do. That wouldn’t do at all.”

 

Kirsten’s out. She’s nearing the end of her shift, and as usual, they’re on the phone. When she gets back, they’re going to get some Chinese on the way back to Kirsten’s, and then they’re going to watch a film and have some wine and unwind after what feels like a really long week.

“Ooh! Gotta go. Jenson Button’s just streaked past in a white tranny. I think he’s tryna smash the land speed record, bless him. And he’s got a tail light out - I think I might give him a tug,” Kirsten says, and Catherine nods to herself.

“Okay, well you be careful. And don’t be long, I wanna send everyone home in ten minutes. I wanna go home in ten minutes.”

Kirsten smiles, reminding herself that ‘home’ meant her own flat with takeaway and wine. She hangs up and puts in a request for the details of the vehicle she’s now following, and then flicks her sirens on.

The van pulls over eventually, and Kirsten sits in the car a while longer, waiting for them to get back to her. She’s impatient - she wants to get back and see Catherine and relax. And she blames the strange feeling that suddenly overcomes her and makes her shiver on the fact that she just needs some down time. As she waits, she thinks of Catherine, and the more she looks at the white van in her rear view mirror, the more uncomfortable she gets. The Mini parks in front of her and she shakes her head, leaning forward to speed dial Catherine.

“Kirsten?” she sounds a little panicked. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Kirsten says. “I just - you know how you’re always tellin’ me to trust me gut?”

“Yes?”

“Can you send backup?”

Catherine sits up, looking at her jacket. “Why? What’s goin’ on?”

“Nothing, I just - I really don’t feel good about this.”

Whatever Catherine thinks, she doesn’t question it. She knows to trust their instincts, and even if she didn’t, there’s no way she’ll put anybody’s life on the line. Let alone Kirsten’s.

“Can you wait a few minutes? Where are you? Send me your location and I’ll be there as soon as I can, alright?”

“Alright,” Kirsten nods. “Alright.”

“Okay.” Catherine stands up and grabs her jacket. “Be careful. Please be careful.”

Kirsten nods again. “Alright,” she murmurs, her eyes fixed on the yellow Mini. “Okay.”

 

She knows Catherine’s on her way, and it’s just a tail light. Kirsten grabs her torch, gets out of the car and puts her hat on, and she walks over to the white van.

“Evenin’.”

“This your van?”

 

Catherine tells Shafiq and Twiggy to get backup, and she leaves. She takes the Land Rover, and she turns the sirens on as she makes her way to Scammonden Road. She feels uneasy and she can’t shake it. Kirsten’s not one to ask for help, she’s never been one to step back and ask for backup. Catherine exhales shakily, swerving quickly to avoid hitting a car that’s a little too slow to pull over. She curses under her breath, and puts her foot down as much as she dares.

 

“What you got in there? An elephant?”

“Nah it’s just… me dog.”

“What sort is it?”

“Labrador.”

“Nice. What’s he called?”

“Tommy.”

“I’d like to see inside the van.”

“It’s locked.”

“Where are the keys?”

“It’s just a dog.”

“I’d like you to open the van, Lewis. Where are the keys?”

 

Catherine tries to call Kirsten. She’d be done with a tail light and a speeding ticket by now, but there’s no answer. She calls Shafiq and Twiggy instead and tells them to get to Scammonden Road with backup. Tells them to get people to block the other end of it too, just in case. She’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles are white.

 

Kirsten looks at the Mini that’s now behind them. She looks at Lewis, ignoring the way her heart is racing and her stomach is twisting. “D’you know that person?”

“No.”

She sees flashing lights coming over the brow of the hill and she relaxes marginally.

“Right. Open it for me please.”

 

Catherine’s close enough now to see the Mini reverse quickly. She’s close enough to see Kirsten scream, and she can’t hear anything aside from the blood rushing in her ears, and she slams the brakes on and she’s out of the car and sprinting over to the other cars before she can really process what she’s just seen.

 

Lewis looks like he’s going to pass out, but he hears the squeal of the Land Rover’s brakes and turns tail. There’s no way he’s getting arrested for killing an officer, and he panics. He runs back to the van and climbs in, taking off and speeding away, leaving Tommy to the sergeant.

 

Kirsten’s hardly able to focus on anything but the agonising pain in her legs, and she thinks she’s going to throw up. She fumbles for her radio, and then she sees Catherine wrenching open the driver’s door of the Mini and dragging the driver out. She sees her struggle with him and she sees him hold her against the car and punch her twice in the stomach before she manages to force him to the floor, and then she’s lashing out, hitting him over and over with her baton, and then Kirsten rolls onto her back and tries to call out for Catherine, and everything goes dark.

 

All Catherine knows is pain. She thinks it’s all she’s ever known. All she ever will know. She sees flashes of Tommy Lee Royce’s face through the blood and pain and she thinks he’s going to kill her. She can see Kirsten, and she cries. He stamps on her arm and it’s white pain. She can taste blood, see blood, she thinks she’s going to bleed out, she’s going to die here. He will have single handedly torn her life apart, taken her daughter, her girlfriend, and her. She’s crying and her throat hurts, although she can’t tell which part of her body is which. All she knows is pain. She’s scared. She thinks she hears sirens, and then there’s nothing. He’s gone. She hears shouts. She thinks someone’s calling her name, calling Kirsten’s name, and then someone’s above her and she whimpers, trying to curl in on herself. She wants to die. All she knows is pain.

 

Kirsten opens her eyes and the first thing she sees is a blinding light. She groans and turns her head, frowning and covering her eyes. She hears beeping, and low voices, and she stays still and silent for a while.

“Kirsten?”

“Catherine?” she mumbles, and then she remembers the van. Catherine. The driver. Catherine. Lewis Whippey. Fuck, Catherine.

“Kirsten. You’re alright, you’re safe.”

The voice doesn’t belong to Catherine. She realises she’s in hospital. Her voice is hoarse as she tries again. “Catherine.” She opens her eyes and she feels sick. She groans again and looks around. She’s now panicking, remembering too much at once. She looks at the person sitting next to the bed and she sobs, covering her mouth with both hands.

“Kirsten…” Ollie reaches out to rest a hand on her shoulder, and she shakes her head. It’s all wrong. It’s all wrong.

“Catherine, Catherine, Catherine.” It’s all she says as she looks around wildly. The view of the room is distorted by her tears, and there are too many people appearing, talking at her, trying to ask her questions and explain things, too many people who aren’t Catherine. “Where is she,” she croaks, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Catherine.” She’s pleading now, wishing that the sergeant would just appear from behind a nurse. Ollie’s crying, and she thinks she hates him. “Please. Please. Catherine.”

 

The next time she wakes up, it’s dark and quiet. The lights are all off save from a lamp on the bedside, and Kirsten instantly looks to the chair beside her bed. It’s empty. The door swings open and she looks up hopefully, but it’s only Mike, and he looks tired and stressed, and his eyes are red rimmed.

“Hey,” he says, sitting down and clasping his hands together. He offers her a strained smile that she can’t return.

“Where’s Catherine?” she asks, and her voice is flat. She’s staring at the ceiling. “Is she dead?”

“Is she- no. No, she’s not dead.” Mike’s voice is quiet. He wants to add  _ not yet,  _ but he can’t bring himself to do that. “What happened, Kirsten? Who was it?”

“Ask Catherine,” Kirsten whispers, trying not to remember the faces of the two men. “She got a better look. Where is she?”

Mike won’t answer her. “Will you be able to do a statement for us? When you feel better, obviously. The, um, the doctor said your legs are broken-” she hears her own scream again and closes her eyes tightly. “-she said that you’re lucky, you’ll heal.”

“Why was Ollie here?”

“He’s still listed as your next of kin.”

“Well he’s not.”

Mike nods. “Okay. I’ll- I’ll make sure to get them to change that.”

“I want to see Catherine.”

“I know.” He stands up. “You should get some more sleep. It’s late.”

She doesn’t reply. He leaves. She remembers lying on the sofa with Catherine, and if she closes her eyes she can feel the sergeant’s fingers running through her hair again. She turns her face into the pillow and she cries, sobs that shake her whole body. She fumbles for the emergency call button and she presses it with her thumb, and when the doctor comes in she tells her she needs to know what happened to Catherine Cawood.

Removed spleen - internal bleeding - bleeding out - close - theatre.

They’re all just words. Kirsten’s ears are ringing. She clenches her jaw, but it’s not enough to stop the tears streaming down her face. “Is she alive?” she manages.

“Yes. She’s alive. She’s in good hands. We’re taking care of her.”

 

It’s a week before she can see Catherine, a week before Catherine’s out of hospital. She’s got metal now in both legs, and she’s not allowed to walk without aid. They tell her she can leave after a few days but she can’t work and she can’t live alone until she’s healed. She doesn’t care. She just wants to see Catherine. Clare’s been around to her house a few times to check on her, to give her updates on Catherine, to apologise again and again that she can’t see her in the hospital. Ollie insisted on staying with her, but she makes him stay on the sofa. She can’t stand the sight of him.

 

Clare brings Catherine around to Kirsten’s house. It’s easier than trying to faff around with the wheelchair, and the moment they see each other they both burst into tears. They embrace, and Catherine’s running her hands through Kirsten’s hair and over her face and neck and shoulders and arms, holding her close.

“I’m so sorry,” Catherine whispers, rocking the younger woman slowly. Clare and Ollie have gone somewhere else, and Catherine’s crying into Kirsten’s hair. “I shouldn’t ‘ave let you go.”

“I shouldn’t ‘ave called you,” Kirsten whispers thickly. “I’m sorry, Catherine, I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t. I thought you were dead they wouldn’t tell me where you were, they wouldn’t tell me what happened and I thought you were dead I thought I’d lost you.”

Catherine hushes her and wipes her tears clumsily, before she presses her lips to Kirsten’s forehead. She’ll explain who Tommy Lee Royce is eventually, but she won’t do it now. She can’t do it now. She doesn’t think that that is anything they need to go through. They just need to heal.

 

Catherine’s suspended from work. Mike calls it leave, but both Catherine and Kirsten see it for what it is. She’s suspended because she’s too involved with Tommy Lee Royce, she’s only going to be a liability to the team trying to find him. Mike assures her that she’ll receive full pay and hints at a promotion for them both, and says he wants Kirsten back at work as soon as possible.

Kirsten doesn’t want to, of course. They’ve all agreed that it would be best for Kirsten to move in with Catherine, because Catherine can’t leave Clare and she can’t leave Ryan, and Kirsten’s eager to be away from Ollie. She cries the first time she gets into Catherine’s bed, and Catherine holds her, soothes her, tells her it’s going to be okay. They’re both woken up by nightmares.

 

“I don’t want to leave you here,” Kirsten’s saying. It’s been a few months, and she can walk again. They’re both standing in the kitchen.

“It’s best to get back into it quickly,” Catherine says softly. “The longer you stay away, the scarier it is to go back. You need to just throw yourself back at it.”

“I don’t want to.” 

“I’m not letting you lose your job.”

Kirsten sits down, rubbing her forehead. Catherine sighs and walks over to rub her shoulders gently.

“I know you’re going to be just fine,” Catherine says, kissing the top of Kirsten’s head. “Believe me.”

“I do,” Kirsten sighs. “It’s so unfair that you’re not allowed back yet. It’s ridiculous.”

Catherine doesn’t say anything. She’s fuming that she’s still not back at work, she’s furious at their incompetence. It’s been months and none of them have even caught a whiff of the pricks.

“Please, Kirsten?” she asks. “For me?”

Kirsten looks up and she holds the back of Catherine’s neck, holding her to her. She thinks of how much she loves the older woman, thinks that if she goes back she can help them, she can help get Catherine back to work. Help Catherine feel safe again. She sighs, and nods. “Alright,” she says quietly. “Alright.”

 

“She’s going to be furious,” Kirsten says. “This is bang out of order.”

Mike sighs. “We needed an extra person, Kirsten, she’s not fit to come back yet.”

“Not fit?! She’s  _ fine!  _ Do you think I’d tell you that she was if she wasn’t? Do you think that I don’t want what’s best for her? Why won’t you have her back, you  _ know  _ she’ll find him!”

“Look, you’ve been through a lot-”

“Oh cut it out,” Kirsten snaps. “She was right, you’re all monkeys, just doin’ what you’re told with no thought to anyone else. Use your common sense! You’re payin’ two salaries for no reason, just let her come back!”

Mike attempts to explain himself and Kirsten leaves, pulling out her phone to ring Catherine and tell her, but there’s no need. She stops dead, and can hardly believe what she’s seeing. Catherine’s in her uniform, and she’s clearing everything that doesn’t belong to her off of her desk. She dumps it all into a cardboard box, picks it up and hands it to the guy from HMIT who’d been chosen to replace her.

“Off you go,” she’s saying, and he’s spluttering but she holds up a hand. “Shut up,” she says pleasantly, “and get out of my office.”

The other officers are standing around, staring, grinning. They’ve got their sergeant back, and they’re glad about it.

“Now, you can’t just come in and do this!” the man’s saying. He’s raised his voice and Mike comes in, stops, and sighs.

“Catherine-” he begins, but Catherine shoots him a glare fierce enough to make anybody fall silent.

“Are you going to find that rotting piece of excrement, hm? Are you? Are you suddenly going to do what you’ve been failing to do for months? Are you?”

The man’s floundering. Kirsten grins.

“If you know where he is, I’ll hand you me stripes right now. If you don’t, get the hell out of my office.”

There’s a moment of silence, and then Shafiq moves to stand next to Catherine. He folds his arms and stands silently, and then Twiggy follows, and then Kirsten, and then the rest of their team, all standing behind their sergeant and facing Mike and the other man.

Mike sighs, admitting defeat, and jerks his thumb back to his office. He and the man leave, and everyone waits until the door has closed before there’s a slow start of applause.

Catherine turns around and thanks everybody, and they all hug her and congratulate her and wish her well. They all filter slowly out of the office, leaving Kirsten and Catherine alone and looking at each other.

Kirsten smiles. “Wasn’t expectin’ to see you ‘ere.”

“I think it’s about time, don’t you?” Catherine says, taking her jacket off and hanging it up. She looks at Kirsten and they both smile.

“I’m proud of you,” Kirsten says. “Really. Truly.” 

Catherine nods, and she moves forward to kiss Kirsten’s temple. “I think I love you,” she whispers, taking Kirsten’s hand.

Kirsten swallows thickly, and she just nods. “I know,” she says. “I think I love you too.”

Neither of them care that the door is open, or that they’re standing in the middle of the doorway, or that the entire team is watching them. Catherine wraps her arms around Kirsten’s waist and they kiss each other gently, and for the second time that day, Catherine’s met with applause.

**Author's Note:**

> ok i'm not a medical expert. i don't know medical jargon or legal jargon. i realise that the recovery timing is probably all wrong but this is fic. if you need urgent medical advice, you probably shouldn't have just read a gay fanfic that's 11k words long. ring a doctor.


End file.
